Sean’s Burgundy Thread: A Beautiful Morning
She stirs awake before the alarm sounds, even before the choir of song birds welcomes the day from their crooked perches on the 100-year-old black oak. Yawning and brushing away the sleep from her eyes, she turns to listen to him.
His breaths are deep and measured. She is grateful that the congestion from this latest round of pneumonia seems to have passed. The hacking coughs that rattle his bones and rob his much-needed rest are absent now.
Still, last night’s sleep came to him in fits and starts. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” he always says.
This time, the culprits were cramps that seized his feet and hands. He had tried to get out of bed without waking her. He often mused that she slumbered with one eye open. He never could sneak so much as a cookie into bed without a comment from the peanut gallery.
When he got up, he urged her to go back to sleep and awkwardly stumbled out of the bedroom, fighting hard to stretch his toes and arches and aching calves before the pain would have him writhing on the floor.
He walked around the house from 1:42 a.m. until 2:26 a.m., trying to coax his traitorous muscles back into the fold.
She knows this because she watched the clock.
When he crawled back into bed, she didn’t speak because it upsets him to think that she worries about him day and night. He loves her for it, but he feels guilty that his illness consumes her in so many ways.
He did all that he could to silence the moan as his body sunk into the mattress. While waiting to drift off, he listened closely to her breaths. He prayed that precious sleep would soon embrace them both.
Content that he is finally resting comfortably, she quietly climbs out of bed, puts on her robe to fight off the winter chill in the drafty old house, and pads down the hall, followed by their ever faithful, but still droopy-eyed dogs.
It isn’t quite time to get the children up for school, but she can’t resist peeking in on them. Unlike her, the kids can sleep through an earthquake, not to mention their alarm clocks. Must be nice.
This is as calm as their household ever gets, she smiles. Her babies look like sleeping angels. Sure she’s biased, but that doesn’t change the facts, does it?
It hits her that they’re not exactly babies anymore. At sixteen and nine, they are dynamos: full of life, fun and funny, stubborn, driven, curious, silly, sugar and spice, and a few puppy dogs’ tails thrown in for good measure. The boys are starting to call for the oldest one. Where did the time go? They’re both growing up way too fast.
She makes her way into the kitchen and puts on the coffee. Steaming cup in hand, she looks through the picture window toward the Ozarks hills and for some reason begins to reminisce about her family’s journey leading to this auspicious day.
They were both working musicians when they met in Virginia 30 years ago. They became friends in their 20s, went on one date, and then she moved away. When she came back several years later with a teacher’s degree in hand, they began spending more and more time together. Friendship turned into love, and the 30-somethings married in front of an overjoyed, and quite-relieved, gathering of family and friends.
Six years later, they traveled to exotic mainland China and adopted a beautiful one-year-old girl who had been abandoned on the steps of a Buddhist temple and then taken to an orphanage. Seven years after that, they went back to China with their now eight-year-old in tow, and adopted a two-year-old little sister who had been abandoned in a courtyard of a busy city factory.
Such is one of the mysterious lessons of life. From great adversity often springs great blessing.
When he became gravely ill with multiple myeloma a few years later, it was hard for her to see any potential blessings. She remembered thinking, “Why is this happening? It’s not fair.” In truth, she was afraid that they were going to lose him.
Once they recovered from the initial shock of the diagnosis, she said something that stirred his soul:
”There is no way that those girls are going to be abandoned again. We will get through this together, no matter what happens. We will be brave, and we will be faithful, and we will lean on each other and love each other.”
Those words bolstered them through the difficult times ahead.
They decided to seek treatment far away from home. It was important to keep the girls’ lives as normal as possible. She would continue to teach; the kids would stay in school and be around their friends and all things familiar. She would travel to be with him when she could.
They sat down with their daughters and carefully explained that daddy was ill and had to move away for awhile to get better. They’d be able to see each other sometimes, but they could talk on the phone every day. The oldest promised to take care of mommy and her sister; the youngest said that she would miss her daddy and would be good.
It was hard on her to manage their home life, to cradle the kids, to keep teaching, to stay in her last year of graduate school, all the while wanting to be by his side through every moment of the chemotherapy and stem cell transplants and surgeries.
Brothers and sisters and friends came from all around the country to care for him when she couldn’t be there. They both cried the first day she had to leave him.
This morning’s tears are happy. Today marks his last day of chemotherapy after four years of treatment. He is doing well. She’ll let him sleep in.
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Editor’s Note: As most of our readers who regularly read Sean’s column probably know, Sean typically writes his columns from his own personal perspective. For this particular edition of his column, however, he has chosen to step back and write about his family’s story from a somewhat different perspective.
Sean Murray is a multiple myeloma patient and columnist at The Myeloma Beacon. You can view a list of his columns here.
If you are interested in writing a regular column to be published by The Myeloma Beacon, please contact the Beacon team at .
May he and she live happily ever after!!!
Beautiful:)
Awesome!
Love this!
Sean-
I follow your blog and look forward to every update. This is so beautifully written. Wishing you peace, health and many wonderful years creating beautiful memories!
Thank You, this was a wonderful story, You have brightened my day!
I hope that you and your wonderful family have a great spring and summer, and that all continues to go really well with you all! What a wonderful team you are together!
Congratulations for four years completed therapy, and for your wonderful family. We also have an adopted daughter, from Korea though. Your article was so touching, hard to hear—and familiar.
Best to you, your wife and lovely children.
Loved it Sean. Thanks
I very much enjoy your columns. What a journey this is and we are all benefiting from your perspective and thoughts. For your leg cramps, may I suggest drinking a V-8 juice? I have similar mind-bending cramps and it seems to shuts them down faster and prevents more from happening at night. I have to drink it on ice as it is not my favorite drink, but I think the extremely high level of potassium in liquid form is what does the trick.
A beautiful romance story. You made me cry. This is what marriage is about, getting through things together.
Hello Steve , Pam , Terry L , April , Jeanie , Patrick , Nancy , Jubyanne , John Q , Jenny A , & Terri J:
Thank you all for your kind wishes and V-8 advice! I know that I am fortunate to have such a supportive family and Myelomaville friends. This helter-skelter disease can be maddening to patients, caregivers, friends, doctors, etc. on so many levels. Thanks for reaching out to me! Be well and keep up the good fight! Sean (and the girls!)
Interesting read, Sean... I enjoyed that. Was it fun to write from an 'outside' perspective?
Seconded on the V8, BTW. I'm rather addicted to it anymore. Get the low-sodium, tho.
Sean, got through this without crying but it was tough. Hope all continues to go well for you.
Your Kansas neighbors
Rex and Kay
(Kansas)
Thanks Sean,
It is a lovely article. I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I was reading it. I haven't been having V8 but my muscle cramps are getting less - hopefully yours will too.
WOW! Awesome Read Sean! I can relate on many levels.
Thank you Sean. That's much like our lives too and I hope we can remain as positive as you. Groaning in bed and realising your partner is silently listening, every night, is tough - and not something any of us like to talk about much.
So here's a massive tribute to the wonderful strength of Karen, and to my wife Marisa, too. Where would we be without these wonderful women to walk with us, and these beautiful children to inspire us?
I finally got some kyphoplasty last month by the way. Massive improvement. I'm currently in hospital recovering from my first SCT.
@Snip: Thanks, as always, Snip! I've tried hard to understand what my wife and kids think and feel through this MM mess. Karen vetted this column before I submitted it and said that it was on target. I can't imagine making it through this without them. All my best to you!
@Rex and Kay: Howdy neighbors! Thanks for your note. I hope that you've had a mild winter out west!
@LibbyC : Thanks, Libby! My cramps have significantly eased since I stopped my MM meds in December. Be well!
@Scott : Thank you so much , Scott. I hope that you are feeling good and headed in the right direction!
@Alex : Great to hear from you, Alex! I hope that you and family across the pond are well. Yes, we defnitely need our Karens and Marisas and the young ones. Sometimes I feel guilty about the burden I've brought to the family, but they won't have any of it. I'm very glad that your kyphoplasty was successful. I've had three and am amazed at how life changing the procedures have been. The recovery from my first ASCT was the toughest stretch for me, but it got better. Hang tough! Now I'm off to see your new blog. Cheers!
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